The angels are all dead.
by en0k
Summary: an experimental piece that I wrote. unconventional, but I like to experiment. Also, if you read mine, I'll read yours. ;)


The angels are all dead.  
  
No. They are not Shinji.  
  
But, they are. I killed them all.  
  
No. There is one. There is still one more enemy left.  
  
Still one?  
  
Yes. Just one, Shinji. But you already knew that didn't you?  
  
Yes … you are the last angel.  
  
Yes … I am. And who am I?  
  
My self.  
  
My voice.  
  
One.  
  
Talking to myself.  
  
And who is this voice?  
  
I don't know … I don't know anymore….  
  
Hello.  
  
Are you out there?  
  
This is me. Not Shinji. This is no longer fiction or fantasy.  
  
Hello. This is the author of the story. I am talking to you. The reader.  
  
I know that you're out there because you must be reading these words.  
  
Strange isn't it? That suddenly the author of this story decides to talk directly to you, the reader?  
  
If only I could reach out through the computer screen and touch your face right now. To see and feel who you are.  
  
What are you thinking? What are you feeling? What are you like? Isn't this strange?  
  
The boundaries that divided us are breaking down. This story is no longer a story. The fictional characters disappear and are replaced by real people - by you and me.  
  
You are real, aren't you? And so am I. Where are you right now? Where are you sitting? What are you doing? Listening to music or not? I can't see you through this screen. I can only imagine….  
  
Is this uncomfortable?  
  
The barriers dissolve and our egos are exposed. As I reach out towards you, do you flinch instinctively? A protective reflex? A defense mechanism? Our "AT fields?"  
  
Hide behind laughter or a smile? Cloak yourself in intellect, protected by your poetry, shielded in your armor?  
  
Or do we synch? My mind and your mind becoming closer together as the barriers between us dissolve.  
  
This is Instrumentality.  
  
To be honest, I really can't do this. I am afraid. Afraid of people and others. I don't really like to talk about my feelings. So, I just make up a story. And pretend that it's all about somebody else. But really, it's just about me. After all, it's not like I can ever really be someone else.  
  
All of my doubts and worries. All of my fears and joys. I pretend that it's Shinji or some other character that I make up saying these things, but really, it's just me.  
  
But that's why I can't do this anymore. The more I expose myself to you, the more I'm afraid that I'll get hurt. I mean – it's bad enough when someone criticizes a stupid story that you've written. But it's much worse when they criticize you when you reveal your inner feelings. It also feels kinda awkward and embarrassing in all honesty.  
  
So I guess I'm as bad as Shinji Ikari. But you know, he's not really a fictional character. After all, he's Hideki Anno – or at least a part of him. Funny, how Anno wrote about Instrumentality. The whole Evangelion series was his Instrumentality project – his thoughts, his feelings, his emotions being bared and becoming shared with ours.  
  
But you see. I am now running away. My ego shields itself with intellectual conversation. I am no longer talking about myself. I am talking about others. It is much easier this way. Much more comfortable.  
  
And by now at this point, your ego defenses are also probably up at full strength. You've created some distance again between your self and my self. I've done the same so that I won't get hurt by what you may say or think or feel.  
  
I'll say that I don't really care what you think … even though I do. I'll come up with all of these different kinds of intricate and elaborate schemes to protect myself from criticism. From being hurt.  
  
Nobody likes to be hurt….  
  
So, I guess it's better this way. Although this separation between people causes a lot of pain and suffering in this world – isolation and distrust, hatred and misunderstanding, wars and killing – could we ever really live in any other way? To completely reveal all of your insecurities and failings to everyone that you meet … it would be too hard to live that way. It would be too painful.  
  
Ah, it's so easy to speak of mankind in philosophical terms. But it's hard to talk about myself. My true self.  
  
But then, even this is a lie, isn't it?  
  
Because after all, this is just a story. And I am not real. I am just a phantom hiding in the guise of fiction (I am what I am).  
  
I am the last angel.  
  
Yes … I am. And who am I?  
  
My self.  
  
My voice.  
  
One.  
  
Talking to myself.  
  
And who is this voice?  
  
I don't know … I don't know anymore….  
  
Hello.  
  
Are you out there?  
  
(The angels are all dead). 


End file.
